The Italian
by Bridgette Irish
Summary: When Hermione comes out to the Weasley clan, she begins dating a mysterious woman who sets Fleur on edge in the midst of a great personal tragedy. The women struggle with balancing Fleur's pain and suspicions and Hermione's happiness and insecurities. Currently Rated T, likely to change to M later in the story.
1. Chapter 1

The Italian

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. I receive no monetary compensation for this work. Susanna Fiore is my creation.

Chapter 1

The Burrow kitchen burst into chaos upon Fleur and Bill's announcement.

"Fleur, dear, that's wonderful news! I'll get started knitting booties straight away. Merlin knows you'll need them!" Mrs. Weasley was the first to chip in.

Mr. Weasley smacked Bill on the back and laughed heartily. "Well done, son. You'll both make cracking parents!"

Ginny stood and gave Fleur a delicate hug. Upon conclusion of the war, the two had somewhat thawed to each other and were in the beginnings of what may almost be called sisterhood. "When are you due, Phlem?" she asked affectionately.

Fleur sighed and smiled, squeezing Ginny's hands and looking past her to her husband, light sparkling in her eyes. "Fall. September, most likely. We think it may be close to 'Ermione's birthday." Fleur turned her dazzling smile upon her sister-in-law.

Hermione shook off her melancholy momentarily and stood herself, to join Ginny at Fleur's side. She bestowed a friendly kiss on Fleur's perfect cheek, gave her arm a squeeze and said "Congratulations, darling. You are positively glowing." She then left the room with a surreptitious glance at Ron and a hurried excuse about the loo.

Ron stood, cleared his throat and pointed in the direction Hermione had just escaped. "I had better…" The table nodded collectively and let him go. Before he was out of sight, though, he turned to Bill and Fleur. "I'm so happy for you both. I can't wait to meet the little blighter," and with a wink he was gone.

Fleur looked stricken. "Is she upset? Did I say somezing wrong?"

Ginny shook her head. "Nothing you did, Phlem. She and Ron have been having a rough go of it. It may only be she wishes she was where you are and doesn't want to resent you for it. You know Hermione. She meant what she said. She's terribly happy for you, only conflicted."

Fleur nodded.

"So, sis," George chimed in, breaking the tension. "Will you let me name Baby Weasley."

Fleur rolled her eyes and bantered back. "You may not. If you had your way my bebe would be named for some burly Quidditch player, non?"

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Hermione made it up to Ginny's room, where she had spent so many childhood nights, before Ron caught up with her.

"Oi, Hermione, what's the big idea, just running off like that? Fleur thinks you're angry with her."

Hermione sniffed and looked out the window into the starry night. "I'm sorry, Ron. I just didn't want to be a buzzkill. We can't tell them now. Not after this. It would ruin the entire night."

Ron crossed the room and stood next to her, not touching her, but softened his voice. "Maybe you're right, love, but we can't put it off much longer. Ginny's already figured it out and as perceptive as Fleur is, she won't be far behind. They know you far too well. I can hide it from Mum and Dad well enough, but Harry and George are starting to wonder as well."

Hermione turned to Ron, hope shining in her eyes alongside her unshed tears. "Can't we try again, Ron? Surely we can work it out. I'll try harder, I'll go to counseling, maybe there's a potion I can take. I refuse to believe this is the end of us."

Now, Ron did reach for her, holding her by both shoulders. "We have tried, love, for far longer than we probably should have. It's nothing to do with effort, Hermione. We've both tried, Merlin knows. But I am not what you want, and we can't keep pretending that will ever change."

Hermione's tears spilled over. "Ron, I've never failed at anything."

Ron pulled her into a hug and spoke into the wisps of her hair brushing his face. "This isn't failure, Hermione. It's just accepting the truth. Moving on will give us both the chance to be happy."

Hermione nodded, squared her shoulders and made up her mind.

"Come on, Ronald. Am I a Gryffindor or not. It's now or never."

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They arrived back in the Burrow kitchen to Ginny and George bandying baby names back and forth.

"Bernard" suggested George and Fleur wrinkled her nose

"Lilac" countered Ginny, "y'know, like a play on Fleur?"

Fleur furrowed her brow.

"Oscar"

"Gertrude"

"Killian"

"Oresteia"

"I like Victor." The voice came from the doorway and all heads turned to Hermione, Ron's supportive hand firmly on her shoulder.

Fleur stood and crossed to Hermione. "Are you all right, mon amie?"

Hermione smiled and nodded through fresh tears. "Oui, Fleur, I'm fine." She turned her attention to the room at large. "I do have something I need to tell you all, however," she hedged. "I didn't think it appropriate after Fleur and Bill's good news, but Ron convinced me it was important enough."

She took a deep breath and felt Ron's strong hand squeeze her shoulder. "Ronald and I are splitting up."

The room gasped collectively, save for Ginny and Harry.

"We'd rather not make a fuss about it. We'll remain friends." She squeezed the hand at her shoulder. "That will never change. I have just recently admitted to him that we are, in the end… rather incompatible."

Mrs. Weasley couldn't resist dropping her two knuts. "Well, surely, if you two just gave it a bit more time."

"Mum" Ron attempted to stop her, but quieted at another squeeze of his hand.

"It's alright, Ron. We have tried, Molly, for far longer than any of you know. But after all…" she steeled herself for the pending explosion. "When one is not attracted to wizards, one should probably refrain from attempting to date them." Her eyes closed and she waited for fallout that never came.

"Well is that all, dear? Why on earth didn't you just say so?"

Hermione's eyes flew open as her eyes filled with tears.

"You aren't angry?"

Mrs. Weasley simply enveloped Hermione in one of her warmest hugs and moved the evening on. "Come, dear, have some tea. It will set your mind at ease. Now, why Victor?"

Hermione accepted her seat at the table, flanked by Ron on one side and Fleur on the other. She searched for and found Ron's hand beneath the table and met his shining eyes. She mouthed a silent 'Thank You' and just as she registered his silent nod, a warm breath caressed her ear from the other side, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

"You know 'Ermione, I have many soeurs from Beuxbatons who would jump at ze chance with 'Ze Brightest Witch of 'er Age, non?" Fleur's sensual whisper held a hopeful promise.

Hermione whipped her head around and caught Fleur's gaze, full of mischief, causing Hermione to stumble over her response. "Um. Thank you, Fleur, but, I, ah, think maybe I should just… be single for a bit, you know? Before meeting a bunch of strange witches right off."

Fleur smiled. "Hm. As you wish, mon amie, but I do not give up so easily, oui?"

Hermione giggled. "Je sais, Fleur. I know all too well."

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One year later

"Hurry Hermione! I don't want to miss mum's Shepherd's Pie!"

"Bloody hell, Ronald, do you ever think about anything besides your stomach? Susanna can't keep up in her heels. Run, if you must, we'll catch you up!" Ron was off, to announce their impending arrival at the Burrow.

"Vieni cara, Ci siamo quasi. We're almost there, love." Hermione held tight to her girlfriend's hand. She needed to make sure they made it to the Burrow in one piece. She was more nervous tonight than when she introduced Susanna to her parents.

"Hermionee, dove si trova il sentiero del giardino!" Susanna grumbled as her stilettos sank into the damp spring ground, sounding much like the diva she was famous for being.

"It's not really that sort of garden, cara, and the little path they did have was ruined by gnomes last week. Molly just hasn't had a chance to repair it yet."

"Well, I sink she should have it repaired for her guests, si?"

At this, Hermione stopped and turned to the beauty with a sudden frown. "Susanna Fiore, you are a beautiful, sweet, passionate woman, and I love you, but these people are as much my family as my parents. More so, if I am to be totally honest, and I am begging you, to set aside your Roman sensibilities for the evening and have a plain, English dinner with these people who love me. Please, be nice to them."

"I am always nice, il mio dolce. I am upset because my new Ferragamos are being ruined in the mud." She ran a perfectly manicured crimson fingernail down Hermione's nose and leaned in close, whispering, "Mi dispiace," and Hermione melted.

They shared a brief, but firey kiss and Susanna found herself in Hermione's arms, being carried across the remainder of the Weasley garden. "Problem solved, cara, si?"

"Mm. Si." Susanna took Hermione's convenient earlobe between her teeth and the young woman nearly dropped her in the problematic mud.

As they arrived at the backdoor, Hermione set the diminutive Italian gently down on the small stone patio and opened the door, allowing her through the door before entering herself.

"Hello Weasleys, we're here!" The kitchen was empty, but the typical sounds of several voices speaking at once floated from the rooms beyond.

Then Molly entered beaming. "Hermione dear, welcome! Ron said you were having trouble navigating the garden. I am sorry for the state of the place. Without Crookshanks around anymore to chase the gnomes, the bloody things have nearly taken over. I do hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"Not at all Molly, we managed." Hermione giggled as she was enveloped in a warm Molly Weasley embrace. She then stepped back and reached a hand to Susanna who took it and stepped closer. "Mrs. Molly Weasley, I would like you to meet my girlfriend, Susanna Fiore. She's the star soprano in the Rome Opera. Susi, this is Molly Weasley, the kindest, hardest working witch in the whole of the British Isles." The women shook hands and Molly blushed.

"Oh, you." She quipped at Hermione and squeezed Susanna's hand. "Come, dears, everyone is waiting for you. Don't let George give you too hard a time, Susanna, he's harmless," she warned as she led the new addition into the living room.

Hermione chuckled and followed behind.

Around a roaring fire, introductions were made, jokes and hugs exchanged and Susanna charmed the room to their toes. As she carried on a conversation about muggle theatres with Arthur, Hermione turned to Bill and asked, "Where's Fleur?"

Bill said nothing, but his visage darkened and he pointed towards the small study off the main living room. With a knowing smile and a sad squeeze of Bill's hand, Hermione stood and made her way into the darkened room.

A single candle flickered on the desk, bathing the room in a dim, eerie light and casting a deep shadow on the flawless face of Fleur Delacour who was sat on the comfy window seat, head leaned against the cool glass.

"Fleur," Hermione began, startling her from her reverie.

"'Ermione." Fleur wiped her hands across her cheeks as if to dry tears and turned a weak smile upon the woman who had entered her sanctuary. "When did you arrive?"

"Just a bit ago. I was worried about you. I haven't seen you since... that night at St. Mungo's. You won't answer my owls and you've closed your floo. I would have come to the cottage, but I didn't want to intrude."

Fleur nodded and returned her gaze to the dark outside. Hermione moved into the room, drew her wand and conjured a small, bright, blue flame above the desk, which eclipsed the candle and cast warm light into the dark corners of the room. She joined Fleur on the window seat and drew one slim hand into both of her own. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Fleur spoke.

"We should go meet your beloved, oui? She will wonder where you have gone."

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "She'll have the entire room eating out of her hand for hours. I'm much more concerned about you." She gave Fleur's hand a squeeze and a gentle stroke with her thumb. "Talk to me, Fleur. How are you feeling?"

Fleur shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. I still have pains from time to time, but nothing like before. The real pain is here." She drew her hand from Hermione's and laid it over her heart. "My arms ache for want of holding her and I sometimes hear cries in the night, even though she never took a breath." Her tears began again and Hermione scooted closer, drawing Fleur to her by her shoulders as the veela tucked her face into the crook of Hermione's long neck.

"Je suis desole, cheri. You will never forget her, but the pain will lessen, Fleur. Je promets."

Fleur's blond locks shook in the negative. "The miscarriage was months ago, amie, but it feels as though it was only yesterday. I fear I will always feel this way."

Hermione drew up her head with a gentle finger beneath her chin. "You must let us help you, Fleur. You cannot expect to heal overnight and you certainly cannot do it on your own. When you feel this way, you need only owl me. I am only an apparation away, even when I'm in Italy. OK?"

Fleur smiled wanly. "Oui, mon amie. I will."

Hermione nodded. "How is Bill?"

Fleur closed down and turned her attention back out the window. "William is distant, sad, wrapped in his own pain. We have not been good for each other the past few months. He will not touch me. I think he believes I will break. And he may be right. If he lays a hand on me, I fear I may shatter into a million pieces."

Hermione drew Fleur's attention back to her. "I have been touching you for the past 10 minutes, Fleur, and you are completely intact. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Let him comfort you, and perhaps you can be of comfort to him." She stood and held her hand out for Fleur. "Come on, darling. Let's go back to the party. Sit next to Bill, tuck your arm into his, lay that beautiful head on his shoulder. A little goes a long way." Fleur stood and squared her shoulders. "Besides," Hermione smirked, "when have you ever been afraid of making the first move." She raised one eyebrow.

Fleur blushed and hugged Hermione tightly, holding on much longer than necessary and whispering French into her ear, causing Hermione to shiver. "Merci, mon saveur. Vous savez toujours pas quoi dire."

At that moment, Susanna strode into the room. "Hermionee, Mrs. Weasley says dinner will be in…" She stopped and frowned, crossing her arms petulantly. "Who is this, tesoro?"

Hermione turned to her girlfriend with a smile. "Susi!" She reached for Susanna's hand, still holding Fleur's in her other. "I'd like for you to meet, my dear friend, Fleur Weasley, Bill's wife. I've known her many years. Fleur, my beautiful songbird, Susanna Fiore. I think the two of you will get along splendidly."

Fleur schooled her features and reached a delicate hand out as Susanna took it. "Enchanter mademoiselle."

Each woman sized the other up as they gave each other a feminine squeeze of the hand and Susanna countered with an aloof, "Il mio piacere." She smiled and turned her attention on Hermione. "Vieni, cara. La cena è quasi pronta."

"I'll be along in a moment, darling." She punctuated her statement with a sweet kiss on Suzanna's soft cheek. After the dark-haired Italian had left the room, she turned to the blonde with stars in her eyes. "Elle est tres belle, n'est pas?"

It was Fleur's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oui," she said with a certain wariness. "But, cheri, you did not tell me you were dating a siren."

Essere Continuato (to be continued)

A/N: Please read and review. I look forward to your feedback!

A/N 2: There has been a request to include the French and Italian translations.

All translations were procured from Google Translate and my rudimentary grasp of the French language

_Vieni cara, __Ci siamo quasi_ – (Italian) – Come on darling, We're almost there.

_dove si trova__il sentiero del giardino_ – (Italian) – Where is the garden path?

_Il mio dolce_ – (Italian) – My sweet

_Mi dispiace_ – (Italian) – I am sorry

_Je suis desole_ – (French) – I am sorry

_Je promets_ – (French) – I promise

_Mon saveur_ – (French) – my savior

_Vous savez toujours__pas quoi dire_ – (French) – You always know what to say

_Il mio piacere_ – (Italian) – The pleasure is mine

_La cena__è quasi pronta_ – (Italian) – Dinner is almost ready

_Elle est tres belle, n'est pas_ – (French) – She is very beautiful, isn't she


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I apologize this update is so short. This story will come in fits and starts until I am less busy.

A big thank you to my Guest reviewer who corrected my Italian. I imagine it won't be last time.

Chapter 2

Hermione had difficulty finding her words in the wake of Fleur's revelation.

"A – A siren? I don't think so, Fleur. No. She can't be. Surely she would have told me such a thing!"

"Clearly, she did not. But, I assure you, a siren she is."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend. "How do you know."

Fleur smiled mysteriously. "It, uh, how you say, takes one to know one, oui?" Hermione looked puzzled. "Veela are descendents of sirens. We recognize our own."

Hermione began fidgeting. "I see," she said with false bravado. "Well, it doesn't matter, does it. You are Veela, and I love you. If she is Siren, I see no reason why I can't continue to love her as I do."

Fleur sighed, but nodded. She knew this was a discussion that would have to wait for another time. Right now, she would have to be civil, and allow Hermione tonight to get used to the idea.

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Later that night, as Hermione and Susanna stepped from the fireplace into the former's London flat, a pair of tanned arms snaked around Hermione's middle as she hung their coats and arranged their handbags on the end table.

"I finally have you all to myself amore. I could barely keep my hands from you this evening."

Hermione turned troubled chocolate eyes on Susi's piercing green ones. "Darling, why didn't you tell me you were a siren?" she blurted out, a bit more abruptly than she intended.

Susanna pulled away, frowning. "Who told you dat?"

"Fleur. She is part Veela. She said that she recognized you as one of her own kind."

Susanna's features had hardened and now her brow furrowed ominously. "Your friend will do well to mind her own business." She stalked off to the bedroom muttering something that Hermione thought sounded like "Cagna ficcanaso"

Hermione always became incensed when people spoke ill of Fleur because she was so frequently misunderstood. Hearing Susi call her a "nosy bitch" ignited her ire and she tore after her girlfriend.

"Now just a second, Susanna." She backed the hot-headed Italian against the wall of the corridor next to the bedroom. "Don't you dare disparage Fleur Delacour in front of me. She has saved my life and the lives of my friends. She has proven herself a loyal friend a thousand times over and in the past year, she has shown strength I can only dream of possessing. If you're going to be angry with anyone here, be angry with me."

Susanna crossed her arms and huffed childishly.

Hermione attempted to soften, even through her anger. "She didn't mean anything by it, Cara. She was curious why I hadn't told her you were a siren. I was taken aback that I didn't know myself. She didn't say anything unpleasant, only that she recognized your heritage as it was close to her own."

Susanna nodded, and before Hermione knew it, sinewy, tanned arms had snaked around her waist, short black hair tickled her neck and warm breath danced across her ear. "Perdonami, dolcezza mia" _(Forgive me, my sweet) _"I am a bit, how you say, sensitive when it comes to my siren heritage. I have loved and lost so many because of it."

Hermione drew Susanna's face up so their eyes met. "You won't lose me, Cara. Prometto. Si?"

Susanna drew her close and kissed her passionately. As their tongues danced, they moved in tandem into the bedroom. Hermione kicked the door closed and soon found herself pressed forcefully against it, and once again, that hot breath was caressing her ear. This time in a low, gentle hum, that soon progressed into a quiet ballad, sung in soft Italian. Hermione felt magic fill her senses, felt her anger melt away and it was as though her entire world existed in only this tiny space in the corner of her bedroom. As the soft voice rose in song, Susanna became Hermione's entire world, and she vowed she'd never stop trying to give her anything she desired.

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A month later, Fleur was putting the finishing touches on her latest painting when a spotted owl with a heart-shaped face flew into her studio window and stuck out its tiny leg.

"Ah, Bonjour Hamlet! Toujours bon de vous voir. Quel est ce?" _(Always good to see you. What is this?)_ She greeted Hermione's friendly owl and fed him what was left of her breakfast croissant before removing and opening the scroll he carried.

Hamlet remained, even after finishing his treat, indicating to Fleur that he was to await her response.

_Dearest Fleur,_

_Enclosed please find two tickets to next week's performance of The Magic Flute at the Rome Opera for you and Bill. I've taken it upon myself to include round-trip apparition passes and a couple of vouchers to Susanna's favorite restaurant here in Rome. We truly do hope you can join us. Upon discovering you were Veela, Susi became very keen to get to know you better and I thought a romantic weekend in Italy would be just what you and Bill needed to reconnect._

_Please let me know if you will come, and don't worry if you can't. The tickets were complimentary, the passes were a favor I called in at the Italian Ministry and the vouchers are just one of many perks of being a world renowned opera diva. _

_The weekend is on us._

_I've instructed Hamlet to await your reply. Don't worry, he's only flying to the Owl Post in Diagon and an international bird will bring it to me in Rome._

_I miss you ever so._

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

Fleur sighed as she folded the letter and pulled out a piece of parchment and her quill set. Next weekend was as good a time as any, she supposed, to inform Hermione of her recent separation and impending divorce.

She was the last of her close friends and family to find out. Fleur had been putting off the conversation, but knew she could not avoid it any longer.

She kept her response succinct.

_Hermione,_

_I would love to come. Sadly, Bill will be unable to join me._

_Look for me at the Ministry apparition point on Friday at noon._

_I very much look forward to seeing you, Cherie._

_A Bientot,_

_Fluer_

Etre poursuivie (to be continued)


	3. Chapter 3

The Italian

Chapter 3

Fleur arrived in Rome tired and upset. She'd had an argument with William just before leaving for the apparition point regarding her insistence upon keeping in touch with his family even after their divorce.

"_I 'ave no intention of forsaking my friends, William, simply because we are no longer going to be married. They are a part of my life, wiz or wizout you."_

"_It isn't fair, Fleur. We're supposed to be divorcing, not hanging out with each other's friends. How can I ever get past this if you're ever present?"_

"_I will not be ever present. It is not as if I intend to spend all of my free time at the Burrow, but I will not 'ermit myself away simply to give you space you are so selfishly demanding."_

_Bill stood, mouth agape, unable to answer, incredulous that she refused to grant him this one thing._

"_Now if you will excuse me, William, if I do not leave now, I will be late for my apparition time to Rome. If you feel ze need to discuss zis further, it will have to wait until my return. I dare not keep 'Ermione waiting."_

She stepped off the apparition platform into Hermione's welcoming embrace and simply said "Coffee?" before being swept off to an intimate caffe and being presented with a strong, hot, robust Italian roast with a splash of sweet cream.

"Merci, 'Ermione. 'Ere I 'ave been 'ere less than thirty minutes and already you are caring for me." She pressed a slender hand to her eyes, in part to quell the oncoming headache and in part to stifle the hot tears threatening to spill.

"Fleur," Hermione pulled the hand away from her face, forcing their gazes to meet. "Please tell me what's wrong. Your letter was so curt and you are clearly not sleeping. You must talk to me."

Fleur took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any.

"William and I are divorcing, 'Ermione."

Hermione inhaled hot coffee and was immediately sieged by a hopeless fit of coughing. When she finally caught her breath, her face was wet with tears, both from the coughing spell and heartbreak over Fleur's news. "When did you decide this, darling?"

"He served me ze papers two weeks ago. But, truly, you must know, our union died zat night at St. Mungo's"

"No, Fleur, you can't think that. None of this is your fault."

I know, mon amie, and I am truly sorry I did not tell you sooner, but I simply did not know how. You have been such a champion for my marriage, especially since ze miscarriage. I did not want to see ze look of disappointment on your face." Fleur looked at her with sad, blue eyes. "Much like ze face I am seeing on you now."

Hermione schooled her features and scolded herself internally. "I am not disappointed, Fleur. Don't be silly. God knows I'm no role model for healthy relationships. Until Susi, I was a complete cock-up at romance. You know that." She smiled and squeezed Fleur's hand. "What happened?"

Fleur told Hermione the whole awful business. How Fleur had attempted romantic advances the night after dinner at the Burrow, upon Hermione's behest, how Bill had rebuked her and slept on the couch for a week. Fleur had approached Bill saying she wanted to try for another baby, that she was ready and that she could not mourn forever. Bill had exploded, screamed that he never wanted children to begin with and flooed to George's shop, leaving Fleur a weeping mess on the sitting room floor. Fleur hadn't seen him for three days. The divorce papers were presented, signed and were now awaiting the molasses-speed process of rubber stamps and red tape at the Ministry of Magic.

"Bastard." Hermione's eyes turned stormy and only a squeeze of Fleur's hand brought her about.

"Enough, Cherie. He is not worth our time in zis magnificent city, oui? Now, tell me, where is your mysterious siren? I expected to see her with you today."

"She is in rehearsals all afternoon and will likely stay at the theatre until the performance this evening. She's hoping we can all meet up for lunch tomorrow, then you and I will have dinner before going to see the show tomorrow night. Susi got us box seats!"

Fleur smiled and held her tongue. _Give her a chance, Fleur. Surely not all sirens are alike._ She was determined to give Hermione's paramour the benefit of the doubt until Susanna Fiore gave her some reason not to, as sirens were wont to do. But she would remain ready to rescue her friend from a dangerous creature, should the need arise.

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In the meantime, Fleur and Hermione explored all the best parts of Rome.

Hermione dragged her friend through the Coliseum, The Roman Forum and finally St. Peter's Prison. "Did you know, Fluer, that St. Peter's Prison began as a Wizarding Prison? Muggle history states it was constructed around 640 BC, but truthfully, ancient wizards built it around 1000 BC and used it to house the darkest of their kind, until the rise of monotheism. It was taken over by religious elders and the wizards were driven underground. There are rumors that it's still being used to incarcerate dark wizards, but if that's true, it must be top secret, because as you can see…" Hermione turned around and trailed off her impromptu lecture when she found Fleur, leaning against the threshold of a stone doorway, gazing at Hermione with a soft, bemused expression gracing her pale features.

"What?" Hermione inquired as though she had been caught out.

Fleur smiled and demurred. "You. You cannot resist being ze smartest witch in ze room."

Hermione looked abashed and turned back to the tiny prison cell they had been looking in on. "Sorry, I sometimes do get a bit carried away."

"Non, Cherie, you misunderstand." Fleur stepped close to Hermione and laid a delicate hand on her upper arm, giving a light squeeze. "I find it… charming."

Hermione looked up and smiled as amused blue eyes met relieved brown. "Well, there's a lot more where that came from, but I'm afraid I may educate you to death and it's such a beautiful day. Do you fancy a walk through the markets? We can pick up some things for dinner." She took Fleur by the arm and began to lead her to the prison entrance. "I'll even buy you a souvenier."

Fleur grinned and laid her hand on Hermione's curled around her elbow. "Oui, I would like zat."

The pair wandered Rome, ducking in and out of shops and even crashing a wine tasting before meandering through the farmer's market and picking out indgredients for an authentic pasta dinner which Hermione insisted she couldn't possibly mess up.

"Are we near your home, 'Ermione. Je suis tres fatigue"

"Oui, Fleur. It's just round this corner. Your luggage should already be there. I'll let you have a shower and a nap before dinner."

Fleur laid her head briefly on Hermione's shoulder. "Mmm. Zat sounds divine."

An hour later Hermione emerged from the kitchen with an open bottle of red wine and two glasses to find Fleur sleeping soundly on the sofa in the sitting room. She set her burden on the coffee table, pulled a large wool throw from the back of the sofa and tucked it around her sleeping friend. Before returning to the kitchen, she couldn't resist brushing her hand down Fleur's soft blonde locks.

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Dinner, while not a particular triumph, was, at the very least edible. The bread was nearly burnt and the puttanesca was slightly watery, but at the end of the meal, stomachs were full, wine glasses emptied more than once and dessert was magnificent as Hermione had not cooked it but had purchased it from the bakery down the street.

Fleur dragged her finger through the remainder of the dolce du leche sauce on her plate and licked it decadently.

The motion threw Hermione off balance, for reasons she chose to ignore and she stood and began clearing plates. She cast a quick, wandless spell that set the dishes to cleaning themselves and poured the dregs of their second bottle into their glasses. "Care to move to the sitting room?"

Fleur nodded and stood.

They settled in, Hermione in the overstuffed armchair, Fleur on the end of the sofa, leaning on the armrest, head propped in her hand.

They chatted long into the night, until the wine was dry and they had moved on to water.

Subjects became increasingly more personal, laughs rang through the apartment and secrets were shared. As the subject turned to romance, Hermione leaned in close to ask her next question.

"So, was Bill your first?"

Fleur was taken aback by the question, but not offended. She smiled in remembrance. "Non, actually, I had a bit of a fling with –"

She was cut off by the door to the flat opening unceremoniously and a short, beautiful Italian came through the door singing a song Fleur vaguely recognized as a recent pop hit.

She watched Hermione's eyes twinkle magically for an instant before she was on her feet and throwing her arms around her girlfriend.

"Susi! Welcome home, cara mia. How was the performance? You remember Fleur?"

"Ah si. Benvenuti a Roma, Fleur. De show was perfetto, amore. I wish to celebrate!" and she wrapped and arm around Hermione's waist and bestowed a through, knee-bending kiss upon her. As she pulled away, Hermione looked a bit dazed.

"Gladly, my love. Let me just clear up a bit and I'll meet you in the bedroom, si?"

Susanna only nodded and sauntered toward the hallway. Before she left the room, and Hermione had disappeared into the kitchen, she turned to Fleur. The smile had disappeared from the Italian's patrician features and had been replaced by uninhibited rage. She turned back to the hallway and continued on, the sound of her humming echoed through the apartment until the bedroom door slammed behind her.

Fleur's heart was racing, but she was unable to formulate a coherent thought before Hermione reappeared. "G'night, Fleur. Stay up as long as you'd like. There's a great breakfast place I'd like to take you to in the morning if we're up early enough."

Fleur nodded and forced a smile. Hermione leaned over and pecked the top of her head before disappearing down the hall the way Susanna had gone.

Fleur took a deep cleansing breath and let it out with a slightly panicked "Oh 'Ermione."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Many apologies for the delay. I am rolling from one theatre project to another consistently for the next several months, so I can't promise to post with any more regularity. I've also hit a bit of a block with this particular story, so I may move on to something else for a while and come back to it later, but once I'm through the summer, I'm hoping to get back at it full steam. In the meantime, submitted for your approval…

Chapter 4

The next day was a bit of a whirlwind for Fleur. She staggered from Hermione's guest room at half past eight in the morning and was presented with chocolate and almond biscotti, fresh berries and rich, foamy latte that nearly had Fleur swooning in caffeinated pleasure.

"Zis is divine, mon ami. Wherever did you get zese delightful biscotti?"

Hermione giggled. "There's a perfect little caffe around the corner that makes them from scratch every day. I thought about waiting for you to wake up so I could show it to you, but Susi was hungry, so I just popped round there and got a bit of everything."

Fleur turned what she hoped were kind eyes on the siren across from her. "Merci, Susanna. Delicieux."

Susanna smiled beatifically. "Si, Fleur. I wanted you to 'ave de best Italia 'as to offer." With that she stood, cleared her plate to the sink behind her and moved to Hermione's side. "I am going to shower, Cara, feel free to join me if you like," and she bestowed a melting kiss on Hermione that had Fleur fighting not to roll her eyes, and she was gone.

Hermione turned cloudy eyes and a goofy smile back on Fleur. "I'm afraid I must leave you alone with her for a bit this morning, Fleur. I have to go back to England tomorrow to clear up a misunderstanding between the British and Italian Ministries and I'd like to travel with you, if you're amenable."

Fleur smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

"But if I'm to arrange apparition on such short notice I must visit the Ministry this morning. I'll be back before you know it and we'll have lunch with Susi before she needs to be at the theatre. Sound good?"

Fleur nodded again and took a fortifying sip of her latte as Hermione gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze and disappeared down the flat's long hallway, presumably to join Susanna for a steamy shower. Now Fleur really did roll her eyes. "Toute une matinee avec la sirene" she muttered to herself. _(an entire morning with the siren)_

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Once Hermione had left on her errand, the morning proved to be both uneventful and very informative for Fleur. Susanna did not hide her contempt for Fleur, and Fleur did very little to make nice with her. She had been dealing with other witches' jealousy most of her life and an insecure, spoiled siren was not so very different after all. Just after Hermione's otter patronus sailed through the open balcony doors and informed both witches that she'd be home within the hour, Susanna turned fiery green eyes on Fleur's innocent blue ones. "Ascoltami, Veela. 'Ermione e la mia. Mine. Capice? I will not 'ave you steeling 'er from under my nose, si?"

Fleur crossed her arms and her eyes darkened.

Susanna sauntered closer to Fleur so the veela could almost feel the waves of jealousy and anger pouring from the siren. The voice that came from Susanna could have peeled the paint from the walls had it been loud enough for them to hear, but these words were meant only for Fleur. "I 'ave 'er, you see. Every time I sing for 'er, she melts into my arms as doh she 'as no legs. Every time I make 'er scream for me she becomes more and more mine. She is 'elpless now, si? Di siren does not lose, once di ship is in its thrall. Di sailor is lost. 'Ermione is my sailor, and you, veela, you are just di wind, powerless to pull 'er away from me. Eet is best you do not try."

Fleur's eyes narrowed and her own thrall became evident as the air in the room became heady and full. The click of the doorknob announcing Hermione's arrival drew both witches' attention from each other.

"I made it back early, ladies, who's hungry? Woah." Hermione stumbled upon recognizing that the room's environment had become a bit dense and it threw her off balance a bit. She braced her hand on the doorjamb. "Am I interrupting something?" she inquired darkly.

Fleur recovered first. "Non, mon ami. Je suis desole. Susanna and I were getting to know each ozer a bit better and ze veela and siren took over a bit, oui, Susi? Our kind can sometimes not resist unleashing ze thrall. A bit like showing off new shoes, non?"

Fleur threw a contemptuous glance and Susanna that thankfully went unnoticed by Hermione and the siren was by Hermione's side in moments.

"Si, cara. Eet is a family ting. We were, how you say, comparing notes?"

Fleur let out a sarcastic laugh. "Oui, comparing notes."

Hermione looked dubiously at both women, but chose to let it go. "I'm starved, let's have lunch."

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Lunch was at a charming trattoria near the Rome Opera, which gave Hermione and Fleur the entire afternoon to sightsee and talk before the evening performance.

They apparated to a few more museums and galleries, decided save the Vatican for Fleur's next trip and ended up on a conjured blanket upon soft grass in a park eating from huge bowls of the best gelato Fleur had ever tasted.

It was Hermione who broached the subject first, giving Fleur the opening she was hoping for.

"I'm not stupid, you know, Fleur. I'm considered rather intelligent in many circles. I'm a bit known for it, truth told."

Fleur looked confused.

"C'mon, Fleur. You aren't very good at hiding your emotions, especially from me. I can tell you don't like Susanna. It's fairly obvious. I just wish you'd tell me why. I've always thought myself an excellent judge of character, but I've also trusted your judgment as well. So, what's your hang up with her? Out with it."

Fleur sighed, set her dessert aside and looked into Hermione's eyes. "I just worry, mon amie. Zere is a reason veela and sirens keep apart, a reason ze old families split. Much of it is ancient secrets I am not at liberty to impart to you, but more zan anyzing, 'Ermione, I care about you and want you to be wiz someone who will give you all of zemselves, and not 'old anyzing back."

"And you believe Susi is keeping something from me?"

"I believe all sirens keep zings from zere lovers, oui."

"That's prejudiced, Fleur. You are a bigger person than that."

"I'm not."

"You are."

At this Fleur stood, incensed. "Non! Not wiz sirens, I am not bigger. Call it what you will, 'Ermione, but prejudice or non, I will protect you, even if it costs me our friendship." Her voice caught and Hermione stood too.

"It won't, Fleur, never." She swept Fleur into a tight hug and said the next words over Fleur's shoulder into the plait of cornsilk hair. "I just wish I understood, that's all. I won't stop seeing her. I love her. If you don't, that's alright. I can love you both, can't I?" She drew back and met Fleur's eyes.

Fleur cupped Hermione's cheek gently. "J'espere bien, mon ami. I hope so."

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The Magic Flute was beautiful, just as Fleur knew it would be.

Susanna Fiore brought down the house, just as Fleur knew she would do.

Hermione Granger was entranced by her lover, literally, just as Fleur knew she would be.

Fleur spent much of the performance watching Hermione watch Susanna. She watched as the brunettes eyes became distant and soft, as her head tilted ever so slightly to one side and Fleur wished, just for a moment, that that gaze were turned on her. The thought was new and unsettling and she resolved to ignore it. She watched as Hermione's hands clutched the armrests as though she wished to reach for something that wasn't there, and for a moment Fleur was struck by the image of a sailor on a ship, tying himself to the main mast in an effort to prevent being swept into the Siren's Song and devoured by the monster below. It was jarring, and terrifying and Fleur knew she was powerless to stop it. The realization brought tears to the corners of her eyes.

Just as she thought she would not be able to watch any more, the curtain fell, the audience stood and Susanna Fiore took her bows and her face turned towards the box seats where she knew the two women were sitting. The look on her face was at once seductive and sinister and Fleur's heart lurched.

Fleur did not applaud.

To be continued…

I know it's short, but my time is limited. Please read and review!


	5. Chapter 5

The Italian

Chapter 5

When Hermione Granger packed for a trip it was a bit of a to do. She made lists, then rewrote her lists, then double and triple checked her lists and she still convinced herself she was forgetting something. Packing for several days in the space of a morning left the poor Gryffindor in a truly frazzled state. Ironically, both Fluer and Susanna watched on, powerless to assist and helplessly trying to.

"'Ermione, don't you 'ave an apartment in London? Why not just keep enough there so you do not 'ave to pack so much when you travel."

"Because, Fleur," Hermione answered, exasperated, "my London flat is approximately the size of a postage stamp and barely has a loo, let alone a decent closet. I spend more time in Rome, so it's mostly just a place to sleep when I have to be there."

"Well, I for one am glad you are not dere so often. It is more time to spend here wit me, si?" Susanna chimed in and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. "Cara mia, siete pronti (_you are ready_). Put away your lists and give me a proper goodbye. You apparate in 30 minutes."

Hermione sighed and Fleur rolled her eyes as Hermione melted into her lovers arms. She stepped onto the balcony to give them some privacy and considered ways she could protect Hermione from the danger she knew her friend was falling into. _But how do you protect someone from danger they seek out themselves? _ She knew of only one way, but Hermione would never agree to it willingly. She'd have to sneak it on her person some other way.

So she discreetly pulled a single hair from her head, meticulously tied it into an elaborate heart-shaped knot and placed a binding spell on it, ensuring its protection was meant for only one person before tucking in her sleeve.

Fleur was snapped from her thoughts by Hermione's voice. "Etes-vous pret, mon amie?" she asked leaning on the railing next to Fleur. We don't want to miss our apparition time.

Fleur smiled and nodded. She always appreciated Hermione's attempts to use her native tongue, even if her accent was atrociously British. "Merci, beaucoup, 'Ermione for zis glorious weekend. I 'ad a marvelous time."

Hermione tucked Fleur's arm into her own. "I'm glad. Promise you'll come back soon."

"Bien sur. Je promets."

They headed arm in arm back into the flat. "Grazie, Susi, for sharing your 'ome wiz me. You were brilliant last night. 'Ermione is a very lucky woman."

Susanna turned her saccharine smile on Fleur and with a voice that oozed false sincerity she said. "Come back any time, darling Fleur. Any friend of Hermionee's is a friend of mine, si?"

Fleur nodded.

As the two lovers embraced one final time, Fleur quietly tucked the enchanted veela hair into the tiny front pocket of the small beaded handbag that Hermione never let out of her sight.

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Getting through muggle customs in both Italy and England was a piece of cake, and typically wizarding customs didn't pose much of a problem for Hermione either as she normally only had to flash her Ministry badge and she was waived through.

This morning however, a new customs employee was working the desk at the British end, and the line for declarations was a mile long and getting longer.

Hermione was tapping her foot and getting more and more agitated with the slowness of the proceedings. "Bloody newbies. The silly child is probably just out of Hogwarts and wants to prove she's worthy of her position. Get on with it!" she shouted just a little too loudly.

"Patience, Cherie," Fleur said, laying gently hands on the tense shoulders in front of her. "No sense in upsetting her. You were fresh out of 'Ogwarts once too, and accused of being too enthusiastic on more zan one occasion, non?" Fleur discreetly released a tiny thrall, just to calm her friends nerves and she saw Hermione visibly relax.

The brunette sighed audibly. "You're right of course, I'm sorry. And you can put away your thrall, Veela. Don't think I don't know when you're trying to chill me out by less-than-honest means."

Fleur threw up her hands. "You caught me Madamoiselle, but can you blame me? Your impatience was getting on my nerves."

Hermione smiled. "Well, thank you for trying. Oh good we're next."

"Do you have anything to declare?" the fresh faced girl asked, gripping her wand like a first year and looking decidedly nervous.

"My handbag has an undetectable extension charm on it, you are welcome to search it, but it is rather full of a lot," Hermione said honestly, hoping the young upstart wasn't THAT earnest.

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary Ms. Granger," the girl flushed at the mention of Hermione's name. "We'll just run a sneakoscope over the lot and you'll be on your way. By the way, I'm a huge fan. You are legendary at Hogwarts. They say you pulled off twelve O's on your NEWTs, and that was AFTER defeating Voldemort. I was the biggest swot in school and I only managed 6 O's and 3 E's"

Hermione rolled her eyes in the face of more unwanted fame. "First of all, I didn't defeat Voldemort, I merely kept Harry alive long enough so he could do it, and second, nine NEWTs is nothing to sneeze at. Good on you. Now, I'm in a bit of a rush, so if you don't mind." She gestured to her enchanted bag.

The girl turned serious again. "Of course, Ms. Granger, my apologies." She pulled out the newest version of commercial Sneakoscope, much more powerful than the joke ones she used to buy at Zonko's and Weasley's growing up. She waited impatiently as the device marched around and into her bag. Just as she thought the scan was over, the Sneakoscope began spinning in mad circles and emitting a loud alarm sound.

"What on earth?" Hermione exclaimed as the customs desk was surrounded by wand wielding guards and her beaded bag disappeared into a swarm of purple-robed Aurors.

"It seems you will need to be detained, ma'am," the customs girl announced, clearly embarrassed and having to arrest her hero.

"What? Zere must be some mistake!" Fleur's heart began pounding. There was no way her talisman could set off a Sneakoscope. She had brought similar baubles through British and French customs countless times. It was an ordinary magical protection charm, nothing more harmful than Instant Darkness Powder or Extendable Ears.

As her panic rose, she watched, helpless, as Hermione's hands were placed under an Incarcerous spell and she was dragged away roughly screaming. "This is impossible! Don't you know who I am? I am the British attaché to the Italian Ministry! Fleur! Fleur, call Harry and Arthur! Please! Ouch, you're hurting me, take it easy, Brutus!"

"Sorry, love." Brutus McTavish soothed in his affectionate Cockney and eased up his grip.

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Two hours later, Hermione remained in a holding cell in a remote corner of the Ministry's apparition station. She was exhausted from crying and from the seemingly endless interrogation she had been put through and she was no closer to being released.

Her first visitor had been Kingsley himself, insisting he carry out any interrogation needed. "I am the Minister of Magic. I am paid to be fair and impartial. I know this woman, and she is no more capable of smuggling dark objects into Britain than I am, so you'll let me talk to her or you'll all be given the sack, am I understood?"

Hermione was grateful to hear his soothing African accent float through the bars of her cell.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry this is happening, but I am going to have to ask you some questions. Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course, Kingsley. I just don't understand how this happened."

So Kingsley began. He asked her question after question, as gently as he could.

Had her handbag ever been out of her possession? Only for a few moments at a time while still in her flat, but never longer than a minute or two.

Was she aware that three significant magical art pieces had been stolen from the Wizarding wing of the Museo Nazionale less than a week ago? Yes, of course, she was being briefed daily on the investigation as the investigating Aurors believed the crime had British ties.

Question after question about what was in her bag, who she had encountered since her last trip through British customs, where she had been, what she had done, what she kept in her bag.

She was exhausted by the time she finally worked up the nerve to ask a question of her own. "What did you find in my bag, Kingsley?"

Kingsley dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders slumped. "The missing art pieces, Hermione. All three were tucked in that infernal bag of yours. Plain as the nose on your face and infused with dark magic. They were apparently intended to be sold as copies and placed in strategic places to be used for espionage."

Hermione looked at him, horrified.

A/N: Another short one, I know, but a little is better than nothing, right? Please R&R.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So, I've been gone a long time, but not forever. I'd love to tell you it was because I was so busy. It's true, I was busy, but the real reason was that I was blocked. Totally, hopelessly blocked. But, the only true way to get through writer's block is to write through it. And here, friends, is the fruit of that labor. I am proud of it, and I believe you will like it. It's nice and long, if a bit talky. As always, your feedback is everything. Please enjoy.

The Italian

Chapter 6

The remainder of the day was a whirlwind for Hermione. She was transported via side-along apparition to a ministry jail on the outskirts of Knockturn Alley where pre-trial offenders were held. It was marginally more comfortable than the holding cell at the station, but it was still cold, and a bit damp and the tiny camp bed in the corner made her eyes well up with fresh tears.

Her escort, Brutus, who had detained her at customs, and whom she knew a bit through Harry and Ron's amateur Quidditch league, looked at her sympathetically and patted her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. "Chin up, love. It'll all work out, you'll see."

Hermione gave him a watery smile. "Thanks, Brutus," and she turned away from him so she wouldn't have to watch him turn the key on the cell door. She barely heard the whispered reinforcement charm he cast before his heavy footfalls echoed away and down the corridor.

She had never felt so alone.

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She wasn't alone for long, however, as the parade of visitors began within the hour and seemed never-ending throughout the remainder of the day.

First had been Harry, ensuring her that he had his best forensics team combing the art pieces for magical signatures Hermione's wand for traces of dark magic.

All magic left a trail and if someone was framing Hermione, the Aurors office would find it.

Next was Arthur. He had been in touch with the Patil twins, who had both become barristers. They would be coming for the arraignment and would hopefully have Hermione out on bail by days end.

Ron came, then Ginny, then Luna, who lamented that the nargles surrounding Hermione knew the truth, but alas, were unable to testify as nobody in the wizarding world spoke nargle anymore, herself included. As always, unhelpful as she was, Luna's quirkiness and kind warmth cheered Hermione up enough to take a bit of the tea and soup that had been brought for her lunch.

Her next visitor was Bill. His eyes were hard and flinty in the dank light filtering through the cell bars. "Bill, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked. He was the last person she expected to see.

"I'm here on behalf of the Gringotts goblins, of course." He crossed his arms and came closer to the bars. "They're outraged. Those art pieces belonged to the goblins, you know. They had been loaned to the museum temporarily for the exhibit."

Hermione shook her head. "Why was I not informed that the goblins had claimed them. I was being regularly briefed on the investigation. Surely, that was a piece of information that would have been helpful in tracking down the thief."

"The goblins don't trust you, Hermione. You know that. They didn't like that you had any part of that investigation , and they certainly didn't want you knowing they were involved in dealing valuable art pieces. You already stole from them once, they don't want you anywhere near their property."

"That's utter rubbish, Bill, and you bloody well know it!" Hermione was incensed. She had spent years fighting for expansion of rights for goblins after the war. She had helped repair Gringotts with her own two hands after the damage she had helped cause. She had made as much restitution as she had been able and now she was being told it wasn't enough? "Do they think I've done this? After everything I've done to make amends for my actions during the war, do those blasted goblins think I am capable of something like this?" She was nearly crying again and her voice broke. She grabbed Bill's hand through the bars. "Please, Bill. Please tell them I didn't do this. Please."

Bill sighed. "I'll do my best, Hermione. But don't be surprised if Warchek and Lildoll turn up at your arraignment to speak against your release. Just beware that this goes far beyond stolen art. There are politics at work here that go above even foreign attachés." He spoke the last words with a sarcasm that Hermione had never heard in his voice and she wondered whose side he was really on, and if helping her was really in his agenda. She wasn't going to hold her breath.

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Susanna arrived shortly after Bill left. There was a rock in the pit of Hermione's stomach and the soup she had for lunch threatened to make a reappearance, but upon seeing her girlfriend, her worries seemed to melt away, if only temporarily.

"Cara, what happened? How could dey put you in dis disgusting cell as if you were some kind of common criminal? I will speak to Mr. Shaklebolt at once and demand justice!"

Susi's righteous indignation made Hermione smile, but she knew it was fruitless. "I've already spoken to Kingsley, darling. It's out of his hands. I've got many friends helping me. I'll be out of here and in your arms before you know it, all right? Non ti preoccupare (_do not worry_)"

Susanna smiled and drew Hermione as close as she could with the bars between them, humming softly. The effect on Hermione was instantaneous and she felt as though this awful day had never happened. It was utter bliss. As Susi's hand stroked her cheek a tear ran down Hermione's face. "What do dey tink you have done, my sweet?"

Hermione smiled at Susanna's obvious faith in her innocence. "They think I am the infamous art thief we have all been hunting."

"Scusi? You, a thief? Pazzesco! Do not worry, cara. It will all work out."

Hermione nodded and sunk deeper into Susanna's embrace.

It was then that Fleur Delacour's mellifluous but angry voice floated from the room adjacent to Hermione's cell. "Where is she? 'Ow dare you arrest a foreign attaché on 'er native soil. She 'as done nozing to deserve zis treatment. I travelled wiz 'er from Rome. She was never out of my sight!"

"Please ma'am, if you'll just wait a moment, I can let you see Miss Granger, but she has a visitor already."

Hermione pulled away from Susanna to listen closer to the exchange out front.

"S'il vous plait. Brutus, is it? You must know, zis is not 'Ermione's fault. It iz mine. I put ze talisman in 'er bag. It was only a little protection charm. Just somezing to keep 'er safe. I did not know it would put 'er in such a position. Please, sir. Release 'er and arrest me. It is ze right zing, you must see zat."

Hermione watched as Susi's lips pursed and anger flashed in her eyes. "What is dat veela doing here? Do not worry, cara. I will take care of her!" Susanna turned to make for the entrance. Hermione grabbed her by the wrist.

"No! Susi, no. Per piacere (please). Just, let me talk to her. I'll be alright. Prometto."

Susi sighed but nodded, stroking the fingers still holding her wrists. "Bene, cara."

"Brutus," Hermione called sweetly. "Please let Mademoiselle Delacour in. I'd like to see her."

Seconds later, a chaste, red-faced Fleur Delacour turned the corner and came face to face with a ragged, imprisoned Hermione Granger and a perfectly coiffed Susanna Fiore. She stopped short. "Je suis desole. I will come back later."

"Fleur stay. Susi was just leaving. Honestly, why the two of you insist on being sweet-talking enemies, I will never know."

"Not enemies, amore. She tinks I am not good for you. And she is probably right. I will see you soon, and on de other side of dese bars, capire?" Hermione could only nod before being drawn into a soul-melting kiss, intended less for Hermione's comfort and pleasure, and more for the benefit of Fleur, whose ice blue eyes were smoldering in fury.

"Arrivederci, amore." Susanna whispered against Hermione's lips. With a sweep of her silk skirt and a breeze of lily scented air, she was gone.

Hermione turned her eyes to Fleur, who stood in the doorway, looking unsure. Hermione could have sworn she saw tears pooling in the deep blue of Fleur's eyes.

Fleur approached the cell cautiously, like a puppy afraid to be scolded. Hermione reached through the bars and with a tug of a delicate wrist, drew her closer.

"'Ermione, I am so sorry for all of zis. I will straighten it out. I truly did not mean any 'arm. I will 'ave you out of 'ere in no time and will take full responsibility for my foolishness. Zis is so unfair to you."

"Fleur, what in Merlin's name are you on about?"

"Ze charm, of course. You, locked away for zat silly protection spell I snuck in your bag. It was truly only meant to 'elp keep you safe. I must 'ave cast it wrong as it clearly did exactly the opposite."

"Charm? What charm?" Hermione was thoroughly confused and pulled away from the bars separating the two women.

Fleur sighed and started from the beginning. "I put a charmed veela hair in your bag when you were not looking zis morning. It is a very old traditional veela talisman of protection. It was only meant to keep you safe and should not 'ave triggered any anti hex devices. It is perfectly 'harmless. But ze ministry must 'ave equipment zat is triggered more easily. Je ne sais pas (_I do not know_)"

"You made me a protection charm? Why?"

"To protect you of course."

"From what?" Hermione was slowly becoming angry.

Fleur looked into Hermione's eyes and sighed, resigned. "From Susanna."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And you felt the need to protect me from my girlfriend, because…?"

Fleur shrugged. "Instinct."

Hermione's ire was rising. "She's right, isn't she. You think she's bad for me."

Fleur gave another gallic shrug. "Oui," she stated, unapologetically.

Hermione grunted and crossed her arms. "Well, you will be pleased to know it wasn't your little charm that put me in this cell. The stolen paintings the Ministries have been investigating were discovered this morning, in my charmed bag, at Ministry customs." Hermione leaned against the cold, stone wall of her cell and tipped her head back so the coolness seeped through her hair into her scalp. "How could I have been so stupid. I take that bag everywhere with me. Anyone with half a brain and 30 seconds of opportunity could have put them there and I never would have known. Harry always warned me that undetectable extension charm would get me into trouble someday."

Fleur stared at her, incredulous throughout the whole speech. "The paintings were in your bag? Someone tried to smuggle stolen paintings out of Italy by way of the Ministry attaché?"

Hermione barked out a humorless laugh. "It worked, too. The paintings are in England. And I am here. Now, whoever it was just needs to steal them back from the Ministry. Shouldn't be too hard. I snuck into the Ministry when I was 16, and again when I was 17. Surely, an international art thief shouldn't have much trouble."

Fleur could not believe Hermione was being so blind, but when one is under the spell of a powerful siren, it is difficult to see the forest for the trees, or the art thief for the kisses, as the case may be. "You do not see it, do you?"

Hermione, lost in her own world of self-pity looked up. "See what?"

"Zat it was Susanna 'oo put zose paintings in your bag, 'Ermione. It is obvious!"

"What!? Fleur, are you out of your mind? Susi wouldn't do that. She's not a criminal!"

"Ow can you be so sure, cheri? "'Ow well do you really know 'er?"

"How well do I..? Would you listen to yourself? She's a national hero in Italy and a celebrity around the world, muggle and wizard alike! She has no need to steal priceless works of art and frame her girlfriend for their theft. None of it makes any sense!"

"Oh, really? It makes perfect sense to me. A siren wiz a shaded past, a lust for power and a penchant for charming beautiful, smart young women finds ze perfect woman wiz ze perfect job to take ze fall for ze perfect crime. Believe me, belle, you are not ze first witch to fall under ze spell of a conniving siren."

Hermione lunged at Fleur through the bars of her cell. "You absolute bitch! How dare you speak of her that way! That is the woman I love and if you think I am going to stand here and listen to you disparage her and call her wicked, hateful names, you're more empty-headed than any of us ever thought, Phlem!"

Fleur was taken aback by the old name spat at her with such anger. Over the years, the name Phlem had become a loving jest amongst the Weasley clan. It hadn't been used against her in anger since before the war. But she shook off her despair, knowing the tirade was part of the siren spell still plaguing Hermione's mind.

Careful not to use her thrall, but only her voice, Fleur attempted to calm a still-flailing Hermione. "Etre calme, jeune fill douce (_be calm, sweet girl_). Etre calme." She took Hermione's face in her hands and forced their eyes to meet. "Je suis desole. I need you to look inside and listen to what you are saying. Zis is not you, my sweet. No matter 'ow angry you 'ave been at me, you 'ave never struck out wiz violence. Zis is all part of ze siren spell. I 'ad to incite your anger. You are allowed to be furious wiz me, I expect it and I accept it, but I ask only zat you calm yourself and listen while I tell you a story." Throughout this speech, as Fleur wiped angry tears from Hermione's cheeks and held her back by a firm hand on her shoulder through the bars, Hermione's fury slowly seeped out of her and she sank to the cold floor of the cell.

She leaned her head against the iron bars and let the tears fall freely. "Alright," she said quietly. "I'll listen." She cleared her throat. "And then you will leave, and you will never come near me again."

Fleur ignored the sting in the corners of her eyes, forshadowing tears, sat down across the bars from Hermione and took her hand. She began her story.

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_In ancient days of Greece, there was a race of magical women, known throughout the land for their enchanting voices and ethereal beauty. The world called them sirens, as their lovely voices drew people to them and enchanted their minds. Men would come for miles and across oceans to hear them sing and tell stories and would bring them gifts and ask for their hands in marriage._

_The women would accept the gifts, but never the hands as they did not believe in love and preferred to live alone, amongst themselves._

_One special day, Dionysus, God of all things pleasurable, made the journey to the sirens to hear them sing and tell stories. Dionysus fell in love with them as a whole and asked them to come live with him on Mount Olympus and be his many brides for all eternity._

_The sirens refused him, knowing that on Mount Olympus nobody but the gods would ever hear their sweet music. Their refusal angered Dionysus and he banished the entire race to a small island in the sea, only to be heard by passing sailors and jealous mermaids._

_As the years passed, the sirens became angry, vengeful creatures, bent on destroying every ship that passed by their island. They lured men with their voices, crushed their ships, took the men to their beds before throwing them into the sea and watching them drown, begging for just one more sweet song._

_But one day, a young siren was born on the island who seemed different. She was not interested in luring men to her bed and dreamt and yearned for a life outside of her little island. One night a storm arose in the sea around them and the sirens came to watch for passing ships in danger. The young siren, named Naima, spotted a passing ship before her sisters did and saw a beautiful woman, tied to its mast, screaming she would not be taken._

_Naima fell madly in love with the beautiful woman the moment she laid eyes on her and ignoring the screams of her siren sisters, dove into the water and swam to the ship. The Gods must have been smiling on her as she did not drown in the sea and was not taken by jealous mermaids, but instead, climbed, wet and bedraggled onto the deck of the ship. She untied the struggling woman, who continued to scream "You will not take me, Siren!"_

_Naima, calmed her with a song, carried her through the squall into the bowels of the ship. "Please, fair sailor, allow me to love you." Enchanted, the woman nodded and leaned forward, kissing the beautiful siren and taking her in her arms. That night, Naima made love to the woman, not even knowing her name, as she sang throughout the night._

_Upon the dawn, the ship remained intact, the sun shone and the woman and the siren awoke wrapped in each other's arms. "What is your name, Siren?" the woman asked, awestruck by the beauty before her. _

"_Naima, fair woman sailor. It means, to be contented. And now I am." And she kissed her._

_Breaking away, the woman said, "I am Mila, and I am no sailor. Only a poor girl stowed away when the storm came up. I knew we would be passing your island and that I would not be able to resist the siren song, so I tied myself to the mast, even as the men around me leapt into the sea, but I was struck down by your spell anyway." Mila looked away, ashamed._

"_Do not be ashamed, brave one." Naima begged turning Mila's face to her with a gentle hand. "I am not like those others. I saw you, and I loved you. So, I came for you."_

_Mila looked into Naima's eyes and saw the truth of it. "Come home with me, sweet siren, far to the North, and be my bride. Leave these others to their anger and vengeance. Together we will make a new people, women happy to love and be loved."_

_And so Naima sailed away from the Siren's Island with Mila and they lived happily ever after, and from them was the first Veela born, and from them forever would Veela and Siren fight against the two sides of desire. One born of lust, one of love._

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Upon finishing her story, Fluer looked up at Hermione, who once again had tears running down her face.

"Why did you tell me this?"

Fleur smiled. "Only so you would understand, cherie, why I cannot watch happily as you run into ze arms of a siren." Fleur sighed and stood. "Your wish is my command, 'Ermione. You will not see me again. I will work tirelessly out of your sight to prove your innocence and you will be free very soon, je promets."

"Fluer, I – "

"Remember zis, 'Ermione if you remember nozing else." She laid a gentle hand on Hermione's cheek. "Sirens lead with lust and it feels divine. But, Veela," she pressed their foreheads together. "Veela always lead with love."

Fleur pressed a feather light kiss to the corner of Hermione's soft mouth and stepped away for one last look, before turning the corner and leaving without another word.

"Wait! Fleur, wait! I didn't mean…" But she was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you all for the fantastic feedback. It's given me new inspiration and quite a lot to think about. This little tale will be wrapping up soon.

Also, to those curious, the story of the Siren and the Veela in my last chapter was very loosely inspired by what little I know of sirens from a bit of research and Homer lore, but for the most part was entirely made up, and with a Sapphic twist… *wink*

The Italian

Chapter 7

Hermione awoke from a dream in which she was floating on a tiny piece of wood in the middle of a vast body of water and being taunted by a single songbird who kept insisting there was a paradise island waiting for her just below the surface of the water, if she would only give up fighting for her life and let herself drown.

She jolted awake as the sound of iron against iron and her kindly turnkey, Brutus, muttering the spell to disperse the wards in his rolling baritone.

"Time for yer hearing, Hermione. Ready te stretch yer legs a bit?" Brutus asked as Hermione sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

She looked up to see Brutus flanked on each side by two sharply dressed, dark skinned beauties sporting identical beatific smiles. To her consternation, she felt the onset of fresh tears and a new lump in her throat. "Padma, Parvati. It's so good to see you." The Patil twins moved to help her up, each taking an arm in physical and emotional support.

"C'mon, Hermione. Let's get you out of this place for good and ever," Parvati said confidently, marching the little party out of the cell.

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The hearing went as expected. Padma and Parvati were brilliant. So prepared and persuasive that even the vehement protests of two high ranking Goblin elders were not enough to justify keeping Hermione locked up. She was released on her own recognizance and left the courtroom to cheers and claps. She knew she should feel like celebrating, but all she really wanted to do was have a decent cup of tea, a hot meal, and even hotter bath and to sleep for a week.

She could have sworn she caught a glimpse of a tall, graceful figure with long, silver-white hair ducking from the room before the large crowd, but she really couldn't be sure. Before she knew it, she was being escorted by Harry and Ron to her tiny, postage stamp apartment in a secret, wizarding corner of Notting Hill.

Harry set about making tea and ordering curry from the Indian place around the corner while Ron chattered excitedly about their investigative strategy.

Within minutes, the familiar cadence of Ron's voice lulled her into a state of blissful, floating oblivion and she slept.

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"William, I am asking for your 'elp. I know you are angry wiz me. I am not exactly thrilled wiz you either, but can we not work togezzer to 'elp 'Ermione?"

"I really don't know what you expect me to do, Fleur. I can't just change the Goblins' minds. You know that better than anyone. They asked me to do a job. I'm sorry if that puts us on different sides of this issue, but all evidence points to Hermione's guilt here."

"If you believe zat, William Weasley, zen you are not ze man I married!" Fleur shouted at her ex-husband.

Bill's features hardened even further. "No, Fleur, I suppose I'm not." He stood unceremoniously and pointed towards the door of his corner office on the topmost floor of Gringott's. "You should go."

Fleur nodded, meeting his hard, cold eyes with her own ice blue ones. "Oui. I suppose I should. I will visit ze Goblins myself."

Bill nodded, knowing a visit from Fleur Delacour would do nothing to sway them. Fleur left, shutting the door behind her with a bit more force than was necessary.

"Ce que l'enfant _(what a child_)" Fleur muttered to herself on the opposite side of the door. "What 'appened to you, William?"

She gathered her wits, smoothed her already perfect hair, and set off in the direction of Lildoll's office. Of all of the elders, she knew Lildoll the best and, in spite of Hermione's sketchy past with the Goblins, she knew Lildoll had a soft spot for the industrious muggleborn.

Fleur knocked softly and upon hearing the gruff "Enter," pushed open the heavy wooden door, exposing a diminutive, but grumpy looking pale grey figure, with squinty eyes and pointy ears. He sat on a tall seat behind a tall stack of rolled up parchments. The stack looked ready to topple over any minute and Fleur suspected it was being held in place by magic.

"Bonjour, Lildoll, ca va?"

Lildoll looked up, surprised at the voice. "Ms. Delacour. This is unexpected. Please, have a seat." The gruff tone could hardly be described as friendly and held a dull edge of scorn, but Fleur wasn't bothered. She knew it was the friendliest Lildoll ever got. "Why are you here?" He asked, intolerant of wasted time. Goblins weren't much for small talk.

Fleur sighed. Buttering him up was not going to be an option, so she just got to the point. "You've heard, of course, of ze current situation wiz 'Ermione Granger?" Fleur didn't let on that she had watched Lildoll advocate for Hermione's continued incarceration.

Lildoll nodded, but said nothing.

Fleur rolled her eyes. "You know she is innocent, oui?"

Lildoll grunted. "I know no such thing. Those paintings are goblin property. We intend to bring to justice whomever stole them from us, and right now, that appears to be Miss Hermione Granger. Now if you'll excuse me."

"Non!"

"Pardon?"

"Non, I will not 'excuse you,' Lildoll. You may be able to fool William and ze Wizengamot and ze rest of your little goblin sycophants, but I 'ave known you too long and you cannot fool me. 'Oo did you come to when you thought your son was being seduced by a veela? 'Ow many hours did we spend in zis very office cracking ze code on ze Lost Scroll of Isis? You trusted me and only me to retrieve ze Golden Cloak of Caracas. You trusted me zen and you can trust me now. If 'Ermione Granger is an art thief, zen I am 'alf Goblin." Fleur crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

Lildoll sighed. He knew as far as allies went, he could do worse than Fleur Delacour. "What do you want to know?" He asked, resigned.

Fleur smiled. "You know 'Ermione did not do zis. You know zat as well as I do. You trust 'er, you 'ave told me as much. Zis is not a game Lildoll. Why did you speak against her today?" Fleur was unsure if tipping her hand was wise, but it was time to lay all the cards on the table.

Lildoll waved his hand, banishing his precarious stack of parchments to an open drawer behind him and leaned forward on his elbows. His beady, squinty eyes sized up Fleur, attempting to determine her true motives. What he saw surprised him. Not just earnest hope for help, but something akin to desperation shined from Fleur's eyes. Deep down, Lildoll discerned, Fleur needed to prove Hermione's innocence. He could no longer keep the truth from her. He closed his eyes for a moment and muttered what Fleur recognized as a warding and silencing spell. When his eyes opened he trained them unwaveringly on Fleur's own.

"What is said here is not to leave this room. I will not insult you by insisting on a Fidelius charm, but if the words leave your mouth without my permission, I will know, and the concequences will be great. Do you understand, veela?"

Fleur nodded. Whatever it was, was serious, for Lildoll to address her so gravely.

Lildoll nodded too and continued. "Hermione Granger did not steal those paintings. We know it, the aurors know it, and the curators of the museum know it. She is being set up to take the fall and the only way we are going to catch the true thieves, is to let her."

Fleur shot to her feet, incensed. "What!? Are you out of your minds? You cannot let 'er go to Azkaban for zomezing she did not do! Zere must be anozer way!" Fleur rounded on Lildoll, blue eyes flashing. "It was ze Siren! Suzanna Fiore, ze Italian 'Ermione lives wiz in Rome. It is 'er. She slipped zose paintings into 'Ermione's bag before we left Italy. I know it! I know it! Je sais! Mon dieu, c'est tres incredible! Je ne sais pas…" Fleur had trailed off into her own stream of consciousness before being snapped back to reality by Lildoll's gruff yell.

"Cease your hysteria at once! We have absolutely no reason to suspect Hermione's lover of this crime. Where is the evidence, Fleur? Now calm down. We are not going to let her get all the way to Azkaban. We have a few leads. We are working with the Auror's office. We need the criminals to believe we have caught her so they let their guard down. Great Gilford's Gremlin, woman."

Fleur visibly relaxed. "Poor 'Ermione."

Lildoll turned serious again. "She cannot know, Fleur. It is paramount. She will want to charge in waving the Sword of Gryffindor and save the day."

Fleur's anger flared again. "And William? Why get him involved?"

It was clear that Lildoll was weighing the truth against a plausible lie in his head. Fleur narrowed her eyes at him.

Lildoll held up his hands in supplication. The truth it would have to be. "We have reason to believe his loyalties to us are… compromised."

Fleur's eyes widened. "You zink 'ee is involved?" Somehow Fleur could not summon up the surprise she knew she should feel over such a revelation.

Lildoll shrugged. "We cannot be sure… yet."

"Mon Dieu."

"Indeed."

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Deep in the bowels of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter stood at the entrance of the vault where the stolen paintings were being kept. It felt strange being back here, his first time since the war. He knew this was the best place to keep the paintings safe, and the first place the thief would look to steal back the paintings. The Aurors had made sure of it. Well-timed media statements, paired with subtly dropped rumors spread like wildfire in Wizarding Britain. Every magical being on British Isles would know where those paintings are by now, which is just what the Aurors were counting on. Still, the feeling that he was once again being used as bait could not escape Harry. He only hoped that whatever spell that was used to incapacitate him didn't harm him too much. He was prepared to fend off the more nefarious spells, but his mission was clear. Take the hit and let the intruders get past the door. His team would take care of the rest.

Harry sighed. Junior Auror wasn't sounding like such a badass title at the moment, even for the living, breathing savior of the wizarding world.

It was that moment that he heard a shuffling in the corridor adjacent to the vault. Whoever it was, was coming. _'Here goes nothing,'_ he thought to himself.

"Stop in the name of the Minister of Magic!" he yelled at the intruders as they came round the corner, dressed head to toe in black, some sort of glamour spell obscured their faces and three strong stunners came barreling towards Harry.

He threw up a shield spell out of instinctive survival and countered with a couple of half-hearted expelliarmuses, remembering he was meant to be beaten in this fight.

His foes chuckled deeply. _'Men then,'_ Harry thought absently as the middle one threw a well-timed _Petrificus Totalus_, hitting Harry squarely in the midsection.

'_Well, as hexes go, it could be worse,'_ was Harry's last thought as the three burglars stormed passed him to work on the not-so-heavily warded door he was meant to be "guarding."

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Once past the door, three men looked around them, only half believing it was really so easy to breech Hogwarts security and steal back the stolen paintings.

They grinned one by one, imagining the rewards awaiting them for a job well done.

"Not so fast, gentlemen," a decidedly feminine voice echoed through the stone walls of the makeshift vault.

With a flourish of her wand, Minerva McGonagall stepped from the shadows, flanked on either side by Filius Flitwick and Kingsley Shacklebolt. A wordless spell from each of the new arrivals had the hapless criminals bound in rope and hanging upside down by their ankles.

"Ah, it does feel good to be back in the field and away from my desk." Kingsley stated in his deep Carribbean rumble.

"Indeed," Minerva grinned slyly. "You know I'm always up for a bit of freelance work on my summers off Minister, but if ye don't mind, I'll go back to my quiet highland life once we have these chaps behind bars, aye?"

"Ah, come now, Minerva? Where's your sense of adventure?" Flitwick chimed in.

"I left it in my castle on my very large estate, where I was enjoying my vacation," the Headmistress said wryly. She leaned down and looked at the still obscured face of the head burglar. "I dinnae know who you are, laddie, but someday I'll look ya in the face and curse the day you were born, aye?"

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Hermione's floo lit up, waking her from where she'd dozed off, a large tome entitled, Songbirds of the Sea: Facts and Fables, slipped off her lap abruptly.

"Hermione!"

"What! Bloody Hell, Ronald, a warning would be nice!"

"Sorry, love. Just wanted to let you know that three men broke into Hogwarts tonight to try to steal back the paintings. They're being held for questioning."

"Well, that's good, isn't it? I'm cleared?"

"Hopefully, soon. But, it's suspected that these gits are just underlings. They're doing the dirty work of the real masterminds. Don't worry, though. We'll get to the bottom of this soon. Hang tight, okay? And get some sleep."

Hermione smiled and nodded.

Just before Ron's face disappeared completely from the fire, Hermione yelped, "Ron, wait!"

Ron waited, confused.

Hermione hesitated briefly, but she needed to know. "Ron, do you have any idea where Fleur is? We had a row and I'd really like to apologize, but I'm not allowed to send any owls, and I know she won't come see me on her own volition." She looked at her hands, ashamed.

Ron shook his flaming head. "Sorry, 'Mione. Nobody's heard from Fleur in days. Mum and Ginny think she might have gone back to France."

Hermione nodded as tears sprung to her eyes. "Just… if you see her, tell her I'm sorry… and that I… that… just tell her I need to see her… Please?"

Ron nodded. "Of course. G'night Hermione."

As his face faded from view, Hermione picked up the large book at her feet, she stared at the cover for a long moment, before hurling it across the room, where it hit the wall with a satisfying 'BANG' and fluttered to the floor.

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A/N: A few chapters ago, someone asked where Minerva was. So I gave her a cameo. It may not make a lot of sense, given the amount of qualified aurors that could have carried out the mission, and I'm sure I'll be called out on it, but, hey, a girl has to have her indulgences, yeah? I like to give my reviewers little presents when I can.


	8. Chapter 8

The Italian

Chapter 8

A/N: Boy, it's been awhile. Life, eh?

When it comes to interrogation, nobody does it better than goblins.

The Auror Office employed a few of the more ruthless goblins for occasions where suspects and witnesses became… difficult.

This thought is what terrified Terry Boot the most as he sat, stewing, in a small, dank stone room sipping from a cloudy glass of water in what could only be described as a dungeon below the Ministry of Magic. That thought and the paralyzing screams of his mates seeping through the walls on either side of his little cell.

When the beautiful dark-eyed Italian had approached him in a nightclub in Florence two days ago, all sensual movements and silky voice, and asked him to help her "reclaim some lost family artifacts" the whole thing sounded so simple and foolproof. All he needed to do was meet a couple of other blokes in Hogsmeade, sneak into the Hogwarts dungeons and pick up a couple of old paintings that were waiting there for them. Then she sang a haunting melody into his ear with her shapely rear planted firmly on his upper thigh. She promised him fame and riches and best of all her body. What red-blooded Irishman would say no?

So when his fellow conspirators turned out to be Justin Finch-Flechley and Marcus Flint, he was glad. Those two were ugly as sin. No way would that gorgeous creature give herself to such trolls.

Little did he know, the same promise was made to all three, with no intention of follow-through. And now, here he sat, chump that he was, a prisoner of the Ministry and no defense for lifting stolen property or trespassing on Magical Government Property.

As the screams got worse and the thoughts of goblin torture became more real. Terry Boot began to cry. "I'll tell ya!" He screamed. "All righ'! I'll tell ya everythin'! Only please, don' hurt me! For de love of all dat's holy!"

Outside Terry Boot's little cell, Lildoll stood flanked on either side by Fleur and Minerva. "Turn 'em off, ladies." He ordered gruffly.

With the wave of two wands, the witches ended the screaming spells filling the corridor. "Let's go get the truth, shall we?"

One by one, the entered the three cells. Fleur to Marcus Flint's, Minerva to Justin Finch-Flechley's and Lildoll himself into the terrified Terry Boot's. The three sang like sirens with a ship in sight and late that evening, Minerva McGonagall flooed to Hermione Granger's flat to give her the news.

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Susanna Fiore loved Rome, more than she loved any other place she'd lived. And she'd lived in many. Prague, Hong Kong, Reykjavik, New York. But Rome felt like home. Born and raised in a tiny wizarding village by the sea, her fondest childhood memories were of travelling to Rome with her Papa to watch her mother, Luciana Marino sing in the big ornate Opera House. She remembered her wide-eyed wonder and dreams of standing on that stage herself one day. And now she did. And it was somehow not enough. Her mother still did not love her and her father was long dead, having thrown himself into the sea when Luciana refused to marry him even after Susanna showed such promise as a young singer. Luciana was Siren through and through; cold, closed, calculating but enthralling and magnetic. Susanna loved her, in spite of the lifetime of rejection she had endured, and now Susanna had become her. Siren from the tip of her silver tongue to the bottom of her wandering feet, there was no love in her dark heart. Only lust and greed and desire for more.

Susanna's time in Rome was coming to an end. She could feel it. She would leave the Opera and go to Rio, where she could become the jewel of the Amazon and hide from all that Europe could not give her. The paintings would give her funds enough to do whatever she pleased, once they could be sold. Her newest consort had a contact in the Russian wizarding artifacts market who would be willing to broker them, keeping her name far apart from the dealings. Ah yes, her newest consort, she mused as she reclined on the balcony of her villa with a glass of very expensive chianti. No, not Hermione Granger. She was beautiful, yes. Smart, powerful, worldly, but ultimately she was too sweet, too open, too downright good for Susanna's rather dark tastes. But her new lover, for that's what they were now, he was more like this glass of wine. Deep, dark, robust with just enough bite to sting and just smooth enough to ease the pain he caused. He proved expert at playing both sides and they worked well together. She would leave him, of course, when she left for Rio. She could not risk taking any part of her old life with her when she went. That included him and her promising career. She would leave the Opera without a word, disappearing without a trace. The story would spread throughout the world and she would become legend. "What happened to the beautiful Songbird of Sicily?" they would all ask. A question that would go unanswered. She smiled as she sipped. Sticking it to her lover's bitch of an ex-wife was satisfying, she thought. The Veela was in love with Hermione, she knew. Well, now she was welcome to her, ruined as she may be. They could spend their lives together through the iron bars of Azkaban prison.

Susanna polished off her wine, stood, and traced a finger over the pale parchment envelope she had placed for Bill on her coffee table. She knew he would find it long after she was gone. She drew her pale yellow, silk scarf over her bare shoulders, fingering the fabric delicately. It was a gift from Hermione. Poor sad girl, she really did have excellent taste, in spite of everything. She grabbed her handbag and made for the foyer ready to start her new life.

She stepped from her front door into the bright Roman sunshine and raised her wand to apparate.

"Expelliarmus!" came from behind her and her wand flew over her head and into the waiting hand of Harry James Potter, junior Auror. She met the flashing eyes of Ronald Weasley and as she opened her mouth to sing, the redhead shouted "Silencio" and all was silent.

As he gleefully bound her hands, Harry recited, "Susanna Luciana Fiore, you are under arrest for grand larceny, conspiracy to commit grand larceny, sedition and smuggling. You have the right to remain silent, but, of course, we've taken your choice away in that matter temporarily. Don't worry luv, you'll be singing like the songbird you are soon enough."

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"Hermione Jean Granger, you will lower your wand this very instant, or so help me, my famous Scottish temper will be the least of yer worries!" Minerva stood opposite a fuming Hermione, wand brandished and signature pointed hat askew.

"They've poisoned you too, Minerva. They've poisoned you all against her! She is not what you say she is, I refuse to believe it!" With that she sent a stunner directly for Minerva's head, which was deflected by a well-timed shield charm, but it tore a small hole in the sleeve of Minerva's favorite robe."

"Expelliarmus! Incarcerous! Silencio!" Three perfectly executed spells spilled from Minerva's wand, one after the other, disarming, binding and silencing the angry young witch all at once. Hermione struggled, opened her mouth to scream, then collapsed on the floor, hands bound behind her and silently sobbed as tears rolled down her reddened cheeks.

Minerva sighed and pocketed both hers and Hermione's wands and sat down next to her former pupil on the orange shag carpeting covering Hermione's tiny sitting room floor. "This carpet reminds me of Crookshanks," she said, running a hand over the pile. Hermione could only nod.

"If I release you, do you promise not to wring my neck or sucker punch me like a drunken Irishman?" Hermione nodded again.

"All right then." She waved her hand and muttered a low, "Finite Incantatem," and Hermione's bonds disappeared and her sobs became audible.

Minerva drew the young woman to her in a gesture of comfort as she cried. "Nay lass, dinnae cry. I know this is a lot to take in, but it's best for all if ye examine the facts and face them. Ye cannae fight the whole world, child, and 'twould break my heart to see ye try."

"I love her, Minerva. I can't just believe that the woman I've chosen to love is a criminal, and that she feels so little for me that she would let me take the blame. It doesn't make any sense."

Minerva nodded. "Have you received any correspondence from her lately?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "This morning. Why?"

"Did it include her scent, or her voice?"

Hermone's mouth dropped open. "Both. She scented the paper with her perfume and the envelope was charmed with a song upon opening it. She knows I love to hear her sing. How did you know that?"

Minerva reached over to where a book lay face down on the floor where it landed after having been thrown against the wall. She gently handed Hermione Songbirds of The Sea. "I think you know the answer, lass, deep down." Hermione turned to a particularly devastating page of the book and read as yet another tear rolled silently down her cheek.

"How could I have been so stupid."

Minerva shook her head. "Not stupid. Love is never stupid, Hermione. Misplaced sometimes, and not always in our best interests, but love is ultimately what binds our souls to each other and to this world. I'm sure Dumbledore taught you that much throughout Harry's tribulations."

Hermione nodded. "You have proof?"

Minerva nodded. "You are not allowed to see it until after the trials, but yes, the British Ministry has proof, as do the Italians. Her British co-conspirators will be tried in British court, she in the Italian as she did not commit a crime on British soil, only against a British citizen, but as you are a diplomat, Britain will have some say in her trial and sentence. International wizarding law is complicated and muddy, but we'll get it sorted. The important thing is that your good name has been cleared and the Ministry has cleared you to return to work."

Hermione shook her head. "I have no further desire to work for the Ministry. Italian or British, and I'm afraid visiting Rome again may leave a sour taste in my mouth." She leaned her head back against the sofa and pounded a fist on the carpet. "Bloody hell, Minerva, what in Merlin's name am I going to do?"

Minerva thought for a moment and made an on-the-spot decision. "I may be able to help with that, if you are seriously considering a career change."

Hermione raised a single eyebrow, so Minerva continued. "Professor Binns's ghost frequently goes a rovin' over the highlands over summer breaks. Well, I was recently informed that he was haunting a delightful henge near Inverness and was set upon by muggle ghost hunters. They said some nonsensical chants and used some fancy electrical equipment and managed to get him to 'cross-over' I believe they called it. The whole thing was witnessed by local druids. His spirit is no longer in this world, poor soul."

Hermone shook her head. "Ignorant sods."

"Indeed. But this all leads me to the need of a History of Magic teacher at Hogwarts, at least for the upcoming school year. I'd like to offer you the position. I realize, it isn't as glamourous as International Wizarding Attache, but it may be just the thing until you decide what you'd like to do. The job is yours for as long as you'd like to stay."

Hermione thought for a long time, fingering the shag carpet and looking blankly at the book in her lap. The two witches sat in companionable silence. Minerva did not want to interrupt Hermione's brilliant mind at work. Finally, the silence broke. "I accept, Headmistress. When shall I report?"

"August 15th. That will give you two weeks to plan your initial curriculum and get up to speed on your duties before the students arrive September 1st. I look forward to working with you, Professor."

Hermione smiled. "And what shall I do with myself until then? Sit alone in Notting Hill for a month?" she sighed despairingly.

Minerva stood and offered Hermione a hand up. "Well, lass, might I recommend a long vacation? France perhaps? I hear Nice is beautiful this time of year." Minerva winked knowingly, gave Hermione a friendly peck on each cheek and reached into her pocket to hand her wand back to her.

"See you soon." And with a wave of her wand, she was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

The Italian

Chapter 9

Nice wasn't just beautiful. It was a dreamworld. The magnificent blue ocean dotted with yachts and sailboats beyond pristine beaches where the cries of delighted vacationers could be heard blocks away. The narrow cobbled streets redolent with the smell of wine and bread and candle wax. Hermione soaked it all in, went shopping, ate pastries in cafes and dined alone by candlelight and even ventured onto the beach by herself one day, afraid as she was of open water and the crush of people surrounding her.

But today was her last day here. She had a week to pack up her life and move it to Hogwarts, which meant it was now or never. She couldn't put off the inevitable any more.

She turned left into what appeared to be a simple garden, surrounded by aging wrought iron and filled with dying daffodils. But as she stepped through the squeaky gate, Nice dissolved around her and a magnificent open courtyard appeared in its place. In the center of the courtyard stood a stone fountain with three beautiful women in flowing robes, wielding wands with water flowing from them into the basin below.

This was Le Carré Cache, The Hidden Square, the wizarding district of Nice, and it was, without a doubt, Hermione's favorite place in the entire world. She approached the fountain, drew out a single bronze Nodal and tossed it carelessly into the fountain, making a single wish as she watched her coin sink to the bottom, where it joined hundreds of others. The nodal glowed bright gold for a single second and dulled again as it settled into its final resting place.

Hermione heaved a sigh, and continued on, out of the square and down L'Avenue de Jardin. As she approached Fleur's tiny corner of garden outside her ground floor pied a terre, she could already hear Fleur's clear, strong voice mixing with the smell of the Irises and becoming one heady sense in Hermione's already full mind.

She had been here a dozen times over the past weeks. Each time she stood just out of sight and listened while Fleur tended her garden or cooked or hung her laundry out to dry. Always singing, always alone, and always with an air of sadness that broke Hermione's heart. But she'd never garnered the courage to step from the shadows and ask Fleur for the world.

And that's what she wanted, she had decided, from Fleur. The whole world. It was an old torch she carried for this woman who had always seemed so very out of her league, but as she stood one last time and listened to that clear, sad voice, she knew that she had to keep that torch burning.

"You're going to have to stop singing, or I might go out of my mind." Hermione said as she stepped into Fleur's line of sight and leaned against the wall.

Fleur gasped and dropped her trowel, standing abruptly. "'Ermione! Mon Dieu, Que faites-vous ici? (_What are you doing here?_)" She wiped her hands vigorously on the small towel she'd produced from her pocket.

Hermione smiled, her head now slightly cleared since the singing had stopped. "They make gloves for that, you know."

A shadow of anger passed across Fleur's features. "Oui, well I like to be close to ze earth, to feel ze dirt zrough my fingers." She shook her head, frustrated at the topic. "Why are you 'ere, 'Ermione. You made it clear you did not wish to zee me again."

Hermione wilted, the guilt washing over her. "I know. I'm sorry. I was angry, and jailed, and if you remember, under the powerful spell of a criminal Siren." She twisted her hands together and looked up to the sliver of clear sky above the rows of apartment balconies. "You would think the smartest witch of her age could deduce that she sang constantly around me and that was the cause of the fuzzy-headed feeling I always had around her."

Fleur reached out and touched Hermione's arm with the lightest brush of fingertips. "Zat is not 'ow it works, mon chere. Ze magic prevents you from zeeing ze truth. It is why I only sing when I am alone. I cannot risk it. It is my curse."

Hermione took one of Fleur's hands and forced their gazes to meet. "You listen to me, Fleur Delacour. There is nothing about you that is cursed. Nothing." Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes. "You have been a blessing to me since the day you sauntered into my life in your flawless blue uniform and jaunty, irritating little hat." They both smiled at the memory. "I never truly saw you. Never saw your heart. I never dreamed it could be true. I never dared to hope that you could love a swot like me. And then, that night in the jail, you…" she faltered. "You kissed me and you implied that…" Hermione looked to Fleur, whose face was impassive and her courage failed her. She opened her mouth to say more, but no words came out. All the fantasies of how this conversation would go in Hermione's mind shattered and she shook her head, suddenly insecure. "This was a mistake. I've misread everything. I'm so sorry Fleur," and she turned and fled.

She had gotten as far as the fountain when she was pulled to an abrupt stop by a hand on her elbow. She spun, stumbled, and fell, back first, into the fountain, grabbing onto the only thing nearby to stop her descent. That thing happened to be Fleur Delacour and the two witches tumbled wand over watch into the enchanted waters of La Reveurs.

Hermione felt herself falling… and falling… and falling, and her only thought as she felt the water swirl around her was that this was impossible. The fountain was less than three feet deep. She should have hit the bottom before her head went under. And yet she still fell. She dared to open her eyes under the water and she saw Fleur's long blond hair swirl all around her and bubbles rose from Fleur's startled mouth.

She reached for her, hoping to grab onto her so they would not get separated. But as she reached, Fleur disappeared and Hermione landed with a thud on a smooth, damp wooden surface. "What on earth?"

Hermione stood and took in her surroundings. She was on a ship. An old ship. An old sailing ship. The wind was blowing lightly and one of the sails was flapping, it's rigging banging against the tree-like wooden mast just over her head. She was alone. There wasn't another soul on the ship.

"Brilliant," Hermione mumbled. "As if I know anything about sailing a pirate ship." She made her way to the front of the ship where she could see spray from the waves hitting the bow. She looked out on a sparkling sea and a tiny island. Just a rock really, and on the rock sat the most beautiful creature Hermione had ever seen, singing as though her life depended on it. It was Fleur, but it wasn't Fleur. It was Fleur's face, and Fleur's voice and Fleur's spirit, but there was a deepness in her eyes, an ancient knowledge that Hermione couldn't place. And she had a tail, a fish's tail that moved with her words. Hermione gasped as the music washed over her, and with no fear she climbed onto the bow of the ship, preparing to jump overboard.

It was then that Fleur spotted her. "'Ermione, non!" She screamed. "Stay where you are!" But it was too late, Hermione was over the rail and plunging into the sea. Fleur followed her in, both of them sinking into the abyss. Then Fleur's arms were around Hermione and she was swimming to the surface and she felt Hermione's fingers tangling in her hair and then they were both standing, once again, on the cobbles of La Carre Cache, dripping wet, arms entwined, bodies pressed together.

One breath, two, three breaths passed before Hermione looked up, eyes meeting Fleur's. She had water droplets clinging to her eyelashes, bangs plastered to her face and seaweed tangled in her hair and Hermione had to kiss her. So she did. With a gentle hand on Fleur's dripping cheek, she pulled her in and their lips met. She tasted of salt and hope and that ancient something that Hermione now identified as the veela. And she remembered something Fleur had said to her once. _'Veela always lead with love.'_

They parted with a startled gasp. "What the hell just happened? What was that ship? And you were a… a mermaid!" Hermione exclaimed, tracing Fleur's lips with a finger and grinning in wonder.

Fleur's smile could have lit up the world. She drew Hermione down so they were sitting, still wrapped up in each other, on the edge of the strange fountain. She explained patiently while drawing maddening circles on Hermione's open palms. "Ze fountain is called La Reveurs, Ze Dreamers. It iz said zat when two people wish for ze same sing and throw zeir coins into ze fountain, zey may share a vision. It seems we experienced a vision of a sailor and a siren." Fleur shrugged. "I always thought ze legend sounded silly, but now…" She lifted the palm she had been so focused on and placed a reverent kiss on it.

Hermione replaced her hand with her lips and tasted Fleur again. She dipped her tongue exploringly between rosebud lips and was met with Fleur's. The kiss deepened and then ended, once again, all too soon. "I can't believe this is real." Hermione marveled. "I've dreamed of this moment since I was fifteen years old."

Fleur was startled. "Fifteen?"

Hermione nodded. "The second task. In the Black Lake. You gave Ronald a kiss on the cheek and I dreamt that night that it was me. Me rescuing your sister, me wrapping you in that blanket, me receiving that kiss. I've wished for it ever since."

Fleur giggled. "Veela are terrible in ze water. I was doomed." She shook her head. "I knew on my wedding day. You wore zat crimson dress and looked magnifique. I dreamt zat night zat I 'ad wisked you away to safety, so you didn't 'have to go into 'iding." A sadness overtook her features and her eyes dropped. "It was never truly fair to William and I can't fully blame 'im. 'E never stood a chance against you."

Hermione lifted Fleur's chin with a gentle nudge. "You can't blame yourself. Blame Susanna, blame fate, blame me, if you wish, but none of this is your fault. There are forces at work here far stronger than you or I, Fleur."

Fleur nodded, but opened her mouth to speak again.

Hermione stopped her with another kiss. "Enough," she said, between sips at Fleur's lips. Another kiss. "It's all done." Another. "We've wasted enough time dreaming." Hermione reached for Fleur, wrapped a deceptively strong hand around the back of her long neck underneath her still-damp locks. "Time for living." And she kissed her once more, long and deep and full of promise.

A/N: One final chapter, friends, until this story comes to a full end. Thank you for your feedback thus far. Keep the reviews coming!


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